“No-one deserves to die like that, son, no-one, y’hear?”
The boy said nothing, but his face said everything.
A shout from the far window cut short the exchange.
“Sarge, here they come. Lots of infantry, and some fucking big tanks.”
“Ok people, let’s get ready to bug out. Corporal,” the younger man looked at him, awaiting the direction, “Call it in, and give them some numbers. You have a minute.”
Whilst the corporal made the radio report, Mearns slapped the angry teenage soldier on the shoulder.
“Stow it for later, Reynolds. We’ll talk. For now, we gotta get the fuck out of here.”
On Colonel Antonov’s orders, Soviet mortars had recommenced hitting ‘Panyedelnik’, taking down three of the Master Sergeant’s men.
Eager hands grabbed the wounded, dragging them painfully clear, as the short platoon withdrew to the main line position.
Antonov was an experienced and capable no-nonsense officer, and he didn’t like his orders one bit.
Reading the ground, he tried to put himself in the position of the defending commander.
A quick conversation with the officers commanding the infantry and support elements, and a change of plan was set in motion.
Swift notations were made on maps, codenames checked, questions answered, and the command group broke up.
The orders cascaded down to unit level, and 1st Company, 185th Guards immediately deployed to the left, pushing up through the woods as quietly as possible. 2nd Company of the sappers followed fifty metres behind, ready to assist or exploit, as the situation demanded.
One light tank had tried to use the Weilandsbach stream as a cover, but found the modest watercourse to be deeper than expected. The recon tankers sat in the water, their engine swamped and useless.
Another T70 had already penetrated some way into the woods adjacent to the Argen, escaping the potential open killing ground either side of Route 7709.
The Guards infantry of 3rd Company were soon level with the stationary reconnaissance tank, and the combined force moved slowly forward, intent on reaching their first designated line on the 7707.
Smoke from the burning farm buildings, recently vacated by Mearns and his troopers, mingled with the richer, sweeter smoke of the burning T70, flowing gently south in the modest breeze, stinging eyes and tickling throats, as the infantry took their positions in the woods.
As the 3rd Company had been advancing, so too had the 3rd Company of the Engineers, hugging the edge of the river in single file, crawling slowly through the trees and undergrowth that marked the banks of the Argen River.
Antonov judged the moment.
Waiting, …waiting, …waiting.
A final check of his binoculars, quickly sweeping the open area all the way to his target.
Decision.
“All units, all units, Drook-one-zero, execute Adin, repeat, execute Adin.”
On receipt of the codeword ‘Adin’, the Soviet attack began in earnest.
Leading off in four columns, the armour of the 92nd Engineer Tanks emerged from UnterWolfhertsweiler, the strange apparatus they pushed creating loud metallic sounds that could not fail to attract the attention of any would-be defender.
Two of the PT-34 tanks were kept back, ready to move up if one of their comrades was knocked out.
The PT-34’s were 76mm gun T-34’s with a difference. A metal jib protruded from the bow of each tank, pushing a heavy metal spoked wheel assembly, designed to sink into and chew up the ground ahead of the tank. It was called the Mugalev system, and it killed mines.
Behind each PT tank came a line of four IS-II’s, their 122mm guns sweeping the area ahead, ready to lash out at any threat. Each IS-II had a grape of infantry from the SMG Company, each man steeled ready to throw himself off and into combat with the enemy.
Five more IS-II’s, including Antonov’s own vehicle, lay waiting in UnterWolfhertsweiler.
Butcher panicked.
“Hit them, open fire, open fire now!”
The experienced men around the Major did not react, knowing full well that he had lost it.
Only Travers followed the order, the young Artillery liaison officer sending the fire order to the waiting 105mm’s of the 66th Artillery.
Again, Butcher repeated his order, incredulous that no hive of activity had followed, no rumbling thunder, as the guns of his command engaged the enemy.
“You idiot, Butcher. You fired off too soon. Now we’re for it!”
Captain Towers, commander of H Company, was furious, the hard work and planning sold down the river in a moment of panic by the inexperienced commander.
Lieutenant Travers, understanding little, tried to make amends by stopping the 66th’s guns.
Towers tried to make the best of the bad situation.
“Keep ’em going now, goddamnit, keep ’em going.”
Grabbing the radio from the operator, Towers brought himself up to his full five foot seven inches and threw a contemptuous look at Butcher as he got through to Hardegen.
Understandably, the tank man was extremely pissed off.
Towers nodded as he listened, alternating between a look at the battlefield and a contemptuous glare at Butcher.
“Yes, I know that! You can imagine what happened here. Over”
Clearly, the tank officer was spot on in his guess.
“You got it, Major.”
Pausing as another flight of 105mm shells landed in front of the oncoming enemy, Towers risked a look out of the window.
Shouting at Travers, Towers focussed the inexperienced officer on getting his shells on target.
“Advance your fire, Lieutenant, you’re falling short.”
Turning back to the main radio, he returned to his exchange with Hardegen.
“I’m keeping the arty on the go. No one else fired, thank god. The enemy infantry in the woods on the right seem static for now.”
Hardegen clearly interrupted, Towers taking the opportunity to gesture for a canteen.
The water was cool and refreshing.
Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he responded.
“Roger that. Has to be best. Can you deal with those monsters? Over.”
The tanker’s reply clearly hit the mark, and the small man laughed a big laugh.
“I hear that, Major. Good luck to you. Over and ou…”
Butcher snatched the radio from his hand.
“Hardegen, this is Butcher, I am in command. You will open fire immediately. Over.”
Onlookers were unclear whether it was the collision with the doorpost that knocked Butcher senseless, or whether it was the flashing impact of Towers’ rock hard fist.
Either way, the man was down and out for the count.
The radio was back in competent hands.
“Small problem, now resolved. We will execute as agreed, Over and out.”
Hardegen was grinning from ear to ear.
“I was right. Sounds like Butcher panicked, but Towers has it under control.”
His gunner grunted, focusing on the job in hand.
Hardegen’s mind slipped back to his first meeting with Towers, a misnomer for one of such short stature.
The man clearly knew his business.
Which was very much an asset for the hairy minutes ahead.
Mearns burst into the command point.
“Who in the name of all that is fucking round and sacred ordered that fire?”